Title: We Stand Alone Together

Summery: Voldemort's followers were not bound only to England. While the events of Deathly Hallows were taking place, thousands upon thousands of his Death Eaters and magical followers were beginning their world-wide conquest of the globe. Eventually, their lightening war spread to a very important province of the Middle East, where the only thing standing in their way were two hundred soldiers, determined not to give up until the last man was down.

Rated: M for language and heavy war scenes/violence.

Brought to you by: Wesker888, the author behind such works as Just One Dance, For You I Will, and Crawling Under The Surface.

Disclaimer: I own only the characters and the plot. Nothing more, nothing less.

Author's Notes: I noticed I gained some new audience members, and I say welcome! Basically how I work is: I update when the chapter's ready. That may take a couple of months; I'm a bit of a perfectionist (especially with this story) and I want it to be as good as I think I can make it, and that means I take a lot of time on it. So, if you can endure that, hope you enjoy.

This chapter is...well, let's just say I hope I wrote this well enough. Bit of a warning for some mature content ahead.

Chapter Fifteen: Murphy's Law

There was a general pause as Tonks finished her grave warning. No one knew how to respond to any of her claims. It was like they had taken a tumble down the hole to Wonderland, and everyone was tripping something fierce.

Danny had witnessed the attack on Charlie Base. He had seen the horse-men and had touched the winged death horse that Charlie had briefly made his pet. He had even listened to Tucker ramble on about the giant scorpion in the desert. Now, however, he was beginning to feel betrayed, because clearly the drugs had been broken out and he had not been invited.

He looked around at the more serious, questioning expressions upon the sergeants' faces. Surely they did not believe in magic, how could they? Even with the evidence presented, it was ludicrous to believe Merlin's prodigies were flying around on broomsticks and attacking people with magic wands.

No, that was not what concerned them. What concerned them was that someone out there did believe in magic, and he was using the belief to start World War III, and if he succeeded then a good portion of the world would cease to exist. The big question, then, was how many good guys would bite the bullet before the bad guys got to do the same.

Then Keaney spoke, and his made Danny start a bit; the man was normally so quiet.

"He wants to wipe out the 'Muggleborns,'" he repeated, saying "Muggleborn" in the same way one would say "tapeworm." "How, exactly?"

"By any means necessary," Tonks replied. "You have created weapons that can destroy the whole world and leave a nuclear aftermath. We have spells that can torture and kill every person on the planet and never leave a mark. He will use every spell in his power to torture, to manipulate, and to kill. It's all a game to him."

"Well, if they want to play a game, I say we show them how rough we like to play!" Danny exclaimed, and he was satisfied to hear a general murmur of approval from the rest of the room.

"You can't hope to stop him with your force, he's too powerful," the woman shot him a hard look. "You all need to stop looking at this like another Muggle war. He has magic on his side-"

"Don't bring a stick to a gunfight," started Grimes. Price slapped him on the back.

"Do you seriously think he needs his wand to kill you?" Tonks was growing impatient, growing red in the face. "He knows every dark art known to our kind, and right now he has the power of our ministry on his side. Wizards and witches are barely staying alive to fight him as it is. If Muggle armies get involved, it will be a catastrophe."

"So what are you saying?" demanded an angry Lieutenant Port. "That this bastard is going to take over the world and there's not a damn thing we can do about it? That no one can stop him?"

"No, you can't stop him. But someone else can."

"Yeah? Who?"

Tonks smiled. "Harry Potter."

Whether she expected them to know the name or not, she left the thick, heavy pause hanging there for the rest of the men to take in. Danny was not sure whether the name should provide comfort or skepticism; at the moment, he felt a mixture of both.

"Harry...Potter." Wallace repeated.

"Yes."

"And...you expect us to put our faith in...this one person?"

"I know it sounds like a longshot, but he's the only chance we have. And he has what it takes, he's determined, he's brave, he knows more magic than any other seventeen-year-old I've ever met-"

"He's seventeen?" Danny exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. ""Christ, Captain, we're supposed to put the fate of the world in the hands of a fucking kid? Lad's hardly old enough to drive, how the hell is he supposed to take on what's becoming the next Adolf Hitler by himself?"

He rubbed his eyes in frustration. In his own seat, Wallace had a look on his face that clearly showed a more perplexed look of confusion. Not for the first time that month, he had to wonder whether or not his sanity had finally reached its peak.

"Let me say it out loud, just so I can confirm we're all on the same page here," he said, though more to be sure for his own sake. "There's a man claiming to be a dark lord loose in England. This man has dark magic so powerful he can take over the Queen's palace single-handed. And he wants to rule the world and kill all of those not born with magical powers. He had an army of equally psychotic mates called 'Death Eaters' that are killing these people off. Bullets don't work very well, tanks and nukes are near-useless. And the only person that is left to stop him- the most dangerous man in history, from what you're telling us- is a seventeen-year-old boy who hasn't even finished school. Did I get all that right?"

"Within a word, yes," Tonks confirmed.

"I can just see that report going to Command now," said Danny bitterly. "We can add a sticky at the bottom of the page that says 'Are you scared shitless yet?' That is, if they believe it."

"I'm still not sure I believe it," added Stern.

"Whether or not you believe is irrelevant," snapped Tonks. "I've told you all you need to know; what you do now is up to you. I beg you, though, to stay alive long enough to be rescued. Run, hide, whatever it takes."

"Abandon the fight..." Ryan stated.

"You may not like it, but you must understand that if you don't, you will not survive another week. You should pack up and run as far away from this as you can."

As if we haven't been trying, Danny thought to himself. The last three weeks had been nothing but running, and aside from the horse-men and the rebels, they had done just fine. Just give them gas for the Humvees and they would gladly be on their merry way.

He hated backing down from a fight; both his role as a soldier and his Scottish heritage dictated that he finished a fight that had been started, regardless of outcome. And they all wanted payback. Every man in their company had lost at least one friend at Charlie Base; any chance to even the score was fair game, as far as they were concerned.

But he remembered the base attack, how different it had been, how they barely made a dent in the enemy faction. It had scared the Holy Ghost out of all of them. They had no magic, this was beyond any of them; this was not their fight. If this Harry Potter lad wanted to throw green light at a dark lord, then good luck and Godspeed to him.

And yes, it was their job to keep the world's peace. The people looked to the police, the police looked to the government, the government looked to the soldiers, and the soldiers looked to God. This force fit under something none of them could do a thing against, save God, and could He even do anything? Against a force that could deflect their bullets and kill with light, what hope did they have? What other choice was there but to retreat?

Again, he looked around the room and perceived the same mixed expressions on the faces of the noncoms that he imagined was on his own. All of them were coming to the same conclusion he had, and none of them were particularly comforted by it.

Captain Wallace's face was the only unreadable one, his eyes trained solely on Tonks' face, studying her, taking it all in. Danny knew he was thinking into it more in-depth. These were his men on the line, and their lives were his responsibility. More than half the company had been killed already because they had gone in over their heads- and that had only been one battle. And after three weeks of nothing, it felt as though they had pressed their luck as far as it could go. It could not hold out forever; sooner or later, it was going to catch up to them.

Finally, the captain stood and gave Tonks a tired smile.

"Your words have been heard," he said. "And we will follow them as best we can. If the time comes when we are attacked again, however, we will defend ourselves. We will not simply leave ourselves open for further abuse."

He watched as her facial expression showed her clear opposition to his intent, but she did not voice it. She only nodded.

"Very well," she did say. "But please make it as quickly as possible."

It was a simple request, one they agreed with, but one they all knew was easier said than done.

"She really believes in magic?"

"It's what she says."

"Come off it," Jason snorted. "Alright, magic, I can sort of buy. I mean, Sykes' leg didn't put its own bones back together, aye? But this 'dark lord' stuff and the boy who's the world's last hope, that Disney shite doesn't happen in real life. The real world doesn't work like that."

"Yeah, well," Grimes scratched the back of his head, "according to her, it's happening. And if we're not out of here soon, we're not going to get out at all."

"She said all this was going on in England, that these blokes were targeting every non-wizard in sight..." reiterated Terry, his face suddenly pale. "What about our homes? What about our families? Are we going to get back only to find our homes burned to the ground and body parts strewn across the lawn?"

His question received only a sigh and a shrug for an answer.

"I don't know, mate," replied the sergeant. "I sure hope not."

Jason and Tucker felt the weight of the answer as Terry buried his face in his hands. If England could be overrun, what would stop Scotland and Ireland from suffering the same fate? Always the thought of returning home had been a thought of a safe haven, the escape from the waking nightmare of war. Now they had to face the possibility that home was just as dangerous as the desert was.

Grimes looked over his shoulder to where Tonks was walking with Wallace, Port and Charlie. The clerk was trailing behind, taking down everything the woman was saying into his notepad, while the two senior officers drilled in some last minute questions.

"Okay," Wallace said, "and the green light, that is-"

"Killing Curse. Avada Kedavra."

"Counters?"

"None. If it hits you, you're dead."

"Just like that?" Charlie looked horrified.

"We've seen that," the captain replied. "Understood. Green light is death. Got that, Charlie?"

"Green light is instakill. Got it."

"What about the red light?" Port wanted to know.

"Light red is Stunning. It only disorients, but that can be enough to be lethal."

"What about the dark red? We've seen that a few times," Wallace pointed out.

"That would be a spell known as sectumsempra. Very dark magic. Even if you manage to stop the bleeding, there will be heavy internal and external damage."

"Right. That explains that. Two of our men were hit with it, they were in critical care when we pulled out."

"What happened to them?"

Scott stopped and looked upon her face, upon the urgency and concern written between the worry lines that had already begun to form on her young face, and wondered in amazement how one could care this much for people she had never met before. These people, his men, literally meant nothing to her. Whether or not they lived or died had no bearing on her life. Or maybe it did, he pondered. Maybe their success or failure had all the bearing. A thought, if only a small one.

"One of them didn't survive the first day," he told her. "And the other is standing right here."

He nodded to Port, who wordlessly raised his handkerchief to show his distorted face. Tonks gazed upon the scarred features, the remnants of his ear, the eye that was no longer an eye but grafted mangled skin. She offered him a small smile, to which he returned grimly as he lowered the handkerchief back into place.

She turned back to Wallace. "The spell causes bleeding that can last for days. Your lieutenant was lucky it only grazed him."

"It didn't graze him, it hit the wall he was behind and it ricocheted," noted Charlie.

"Well then, be glad that wall was there, or it would have been worse."

Port snorted. "I'll be sure to tell my wife that."

"Is there anything else we should know, Tonks?" Wallace asked.

"Just to never underestimate them," came the answer. "There is so much more to them than just dark robes and magic wands. The creatures and monsters allied with them are even more dangerous; trolls, giants, the black centaurs have granted their allegiance, the werewolves are growing in numbers-"

"Werewolves?" Charlie's head shot up in alarm. "As in...werewolves? As in full moons, silver bullets, and unibrows?"

"Just the full moons." While not laughing, she was trying hard to keep a straight face. "Unibrows are old urban legend and silver bullets...well, I don't know of anyone who has tried that."

"Oh, well...that's decent odds, then..."

"Relax, Charlie," Scott slapped his subordinate on the back. "All it means is that they've never gone up against a company of airborne troops. We'll manage."

He looked at Tonks and saw her humor gone again, and knew why. He was failing to appreciate the grave situation they were in, or at least it sounded like he was. What she failed to grasp, though, was that humor was their only safeguard at the moment. Looking around at the rest of his men, he could see their stability and emotions hanging by a thread. It was his job to keep their spirits up, and if it meant giving some false hope, then he would give it to them.

Besides, hope was hope, no matter how small.

"I must go now," Tonks said, checking to make sure she had everything she needed. "Keep moving, and don't drop your guard. Good luck, Captain Wallace."

"Thank you, Mrs. Tonks." Scott reached forward to shake her hand. "We'll do whatever we can. Good luck on your end as well."

She nodded, turned and left, to head back out into the desert, the way she had come in. Wallace watched her go off for a moment before turning to give orders to his men. They had to plan and prepare, and fast.

As she was leaving, however, she happened upon Danny, who was sitting on a crate on the edge of camp, cleaning his sub-machine gun. He had been staring after her, but when she turned to him he immediately lowered his head back to his weapon. She stopped in her tracks, smiling at him.

"What's your name?" She called to him.

He looked back up and jumped to his feet in surprise.

"Daniel Armstrong, ma'am," he said.

She walked over to him, and with each step he felt his heart beating faster until they were face-to-face. He gulped, nervous and at the same time unsure of why he was nervous. He did not know this woman, had never met her before, and for Christ's sake, she was already married, he should not be-

Then she did something he did not expect; she reached up and tenderly touched his cheek with her fingertips. It felt like electricity shooting through his skin upon her touch. He gulped.

"I hope you survive this, Daniel Armstrong," was all she said.

If he could speak, he would have said "yes ma'am," "of course, ma'am," "and you as well, ma'am." Instead, all he did was nod and make an incoherent noise. She gave him one more pat on the cheek and walked away from him.

Danny continued to stare after her as she left, watched her as she ventured back out into the desert. He could not bring himself to turn away, wanting to keep her image in sight until she was too far away. This determination held until a sudden gust of wind kicked sand up and into his face and he blinked, and in the split second where his eyes were closed she went from still being visible to disappearing entirely.

He blinked, scanning the horizon. What the hell? Where did she go? She had been clear as day and now she had disappeared as if...

As if by magic, he thought, and the sheer irony of that thought made him chuckle as he returned to the rest of his mates.

It was a somber mood in the camp that night. Scattered into their normal groups, sitting by their fires, there were no jokes told, no laughs to be had. There was only silence; the minds of everyone focused on the day's events and what lay ahead. Mostly, they thought about their homes that may no longer be there, and their families that may or may not still be alive.

So it was that Sergeant Ryan, on his rounds, came across Terry, Tucker, Jason, Owen, Archie and Finn at their spot and sat down with them. There were no drinks passed from the still tonight; everyone was sober, everyone was quiet, until Tucker spoke.

"Is all of this really happening, Sarge?" he asked. "Everything she said, the magic and all, can it be true?"

Ryan's response was very uncharacteristically Ryan. Instead of ignoring them or barking out an order for them to mind their business, he instead sighed and- to the amazement of the others- scooted closer, to be a part of the group.

"I don't know," he answered. "But with this intelligence and everything we've seen, I'm willing to believe it."

"Jesus Christ," muttered Terry, wishing he still had a cigarette on him. The idea of an army of psychopaths in England targeting people just because they could not pull a rabbit out of a hat was too unbelievable.

"What are we doing out here?" Owen asked. "We're dragging our asses around in the sand, and meanwhile our country is getting ravaged. Why aren't we there instead?"

"Is it in trouble, though?" Finn wondered. "I mean, we were getting mail at the base and none of mine ever mentioned any deaths in the family, y'know? Maybe it's not as bad as all that."

"Aye," Archie agreed. "Let's not lose our heads. There's a load of things we don't know yet. For all we know, it's contained in their little world and hasn't really hit ours yet."

"It's possible," Ryan admitted. "The way she made it sound was that the whole country was under siege. We won't know for sure until we get out of here."

"I'll bet they're just walking the streets like they own the place." Terry tapped his fingers on his right hand onto the back of his left, lost in thought. "Burning down houses just for sport. Probably raping every woman they come across."

"Oh, don't even joke about that," Jason insisted as Tucker shifted uncomfortably. Rape was a sore subject for a lot of the men in the company; an unforgivable act, one worthy of whatever punishment the perpetrator was in for. There had been a scandal with Delta Company a year back when a squad of soldiers, out on patrol, had raped a mother and daughter in the city. Many of the ones who had partaken in it had been without a woman for months; from what had been found in their bunks, they had been planning this excursion for some time beforehand.

One of the soldiers, a replacement with only two weeks in-country, ended up guilt-ridden and reported to the C.O. There had been a investigation and a hearing, and for a month or so the Delta compound had been crawling with MPs. In the end, at least one soldier had been court martialed and sentenced to prison; the rest of the men were one by one transferred out of the company.

"Who's joking? You think they won't? You think they won't take any woman they see and bend her over for some fun?"

"Jesus, man, come on." Archie shuddered.

Terry snorted. "Probably make it into an orgy. Just heard all the women into one room and make a party of it. Hell, while they're at it, let's just get all the little children in on it."

"Christ, Ter," Tucker blocked his ears.

"Grab all the little children and have them grow up their way. Why not? It's probably what they do. Bunch of kidfuckers who make a sport out of-"

What happened next they did not expect. Or at least, not entirely. They expected somebody to finally come up and shut Terry up with their fist; hell, it was something that was bound to happen sooner or later. But they expected it to come from someone who would not have anything to lose from it. Sully, maybe, or Danny, or even Sergeant Price who would use it to teach a lesson.

No one would have expected it from Murphy.

But that's what happened. Murphy had been sitting off by himself, within earshot but not interacting with the group. But when Terry turned the conversation towards kids, he suddenly stood up. And when the demolitions man kept speaking, he turned and stalked over, grabbed him by the shirt, and slugged him right in the mouth. He then straddled him and continued to punch him, always for the face, and every blow hurt.

"Woah!" Owen fell back, shocked. Jason and Tucker leapt up and tried to pull Murphy off of him, which was harder than they thought given how skinny the man was.

"Easy, mate-" Jason was cut off by the wind being knocked out of him as Murphy's elbow collided with his gut. He fell back, rolling on the ground and cursing. Tucker immediately backed away, hands raised in surrender, allowing the other soldier to continue to wail on Terry.

Ryan finally got his arms under Murphy's arms and pulled him back. The private managed to get one last kick in before the staff sergeant finally got him away.

"The fuck's wrong with you?!" Terry exclaimed, spitting out blood from his split lip. "Crazy sod-"

"Shut up!" Murphy screamed, struggling to break out of Ryan's grip. "Shut up! You do not fucking joke about that! You have no right to joke about that! Shut the fuck up!"

"Easy, Murph!" Ryan ordered, keeping his fellow mechanic back. "Relax!"

"Ow...fuck," groaned Jason in a raspy voice, still rolling side to side. "Somebody call Doc, I think he ruptured my fucking spleen..."

Other soldiers from the surrounding groups had come over to see what the commotion was about. One or two of them was even exchanging money, placing down some sort of a bet over who would win. Once Ryan interfered, however, most of them groaned and returned to their fires, let down by the anticlimactic finale.

"Sit down, Murphy." The staff sergeant forced him to sit. "Now take a breather. It's alright."

"It's not alright." Murphy jumped back up, glaring at Terry. "Raping's not something you have a laugh at."

"We know that, Murph. Terry didn't mean anything by it."

"Didn't he? Didn't he mean anything by it? Making molestation a joke? That's just like him, isn't it? Terry the Wisecracker, turning child abuse into a joke!"

"Oh, fuck off-" Terry snapped.

"You fuck off! How do you think those kids feel? You think we get a laugh out of it too?"

Finn frowned. "We?"

Ryan studied Murphy's face as it paled at the realization that he had said too much. The private backed away, then turned his back to them and sat down, refusing to meet any of their stares. Once again he was silent; once again he chose solitude to speaking out.

Ryan and Finn exchanged concerned looks. They were the only ones who did; Terry helped Jason up and returned to the fire. Owen munched on his dinner. No one gave Murphy a second glance; no one but the staff sergeant, who was not going to let that remark slide. Not this particular one.

"Aaron," he called softly, "did something happen to you?"

That caused everyone at the fire to glance back over at Murphy. Tucker blinked twice and frowned. Archie leaned forward, looking concerned. Murphy, however, did not move or speak; he sat in his ball, back facing them, refusing to turn around and face them.

"It's okay," Ryan continued. "You can tell us."

"Oh, you're kidding me," said Jason, eyes widening.

The young soldier shifted, but still did not move. Ryan stepped forward.

"Aaron-"

"I was eight...the first t-t-time it happened."

And that was it. Everyone fell absolutely silent when he finally choked out the words, unsure or maybe unwilling to believe if they had heard him correctly. All eyes were on Murphy as he began to shake, trembling from opening a door he had tried for years to keep locked.

"My mum, she...she was very p-p-p-popular, and...liked to have p-parties," he stuttered. "This one bloke she knew from college...he would come visit me, help me with s-s-schoolwork, offer to p-play toys with me..." He wiped his eyes and sigh, and his sigh came out like a strangled gasp.

"That's how they g-get you, y'know...pretend to be your f-f-friend, pretend to c-care...they buy you gifts, new t-t-t-toys or something cool you really wanted or needed...they g-g-get close t-to you so that when they st-t-t-tart feelin' up your junk that you d-d-d-on't protest it because you t-t-t-t-t-trust th-hem-"

"Jesus, man," Jason said. Tucker's face was white as a sheet.

"I d-d-d-didn't know...I c-c-couldn't...I told my m-m-mum but she didn't b-believe me...in high school I started sm-moking up because, f-fuck it, what did it m-matter? I t-t-think that t-time they found me in the loo w-w-was...was m-me just...d-done with it..."

In another uncharacteristic move, Ryan sat down next to Murphy, put his arm around his shoulders, and pulled him into a one-armed embrace. The private put his head down on his shoulder and sobbed. Soldiers from the other groupings were glancing over, concerned this time, but unlike before, none of them ventured over to see more. No one but the immediate group heard Murphy's tale.

"Why have you never told us before, Murph?" asked Owen, to Ryan's annoyance. Who asks a question like that, honestly?

Murphy let out a choked laugh. "My own mum didn't believe me, you think I was going to tell a bunch of s-s-s-s-strangers that some old t-tosser diddled my cock when I was younger?"

"What happened to him?" Finn wanted to know.

He was answered with a shrug. "One time w-when I was home on leave, h-he was around...he t-t-tried to make a pass at me and...w-w-well, at that point the army had t-t-t-trained me fairly well...I kinda lost count how many times I k-kicked his balls in-"

Jason and Tucker immediately burst out laughing. Owen chuckled along, and, after a moment, Murphy even cracked a smile.

"That w-was the last I heard from him...never heard his name m-m-mentioned again." Then the smile faded again. "But you d-don't forget that stuff...it stays with you, it b-b-burns in your head...you don't forget..."

There are a lot of things in life you don't forget, Ryan thought. Whether it be a furious battle or being sexually abused by a trusted associate...bad things in life had a way of always being there, staying in your memory whether you wanted it there or not. Almost all the veterans had at least one bad story about the war; now he wondered how many of them had a memory of something worse.

You never really know someone, I guess. Maybe some things are best that way.

He glared over at Terry. The demolitions expert had remained silent and expressionless during the entire exchange, not taking his eyes off of Murphy.

"Terry, apologize," he ordered.

Terry frowned. "Oh come off it-"

"Terry." The staff sergeant gave him a look that suggested murder. "Apologize. Now."

"Alright, alright!" He looked awkwardly back at Murphy. "I'm sorry, mate. I didn't mean to offend."

Murphy just nodded. "Sorry I beat you up. And you too, Jace."

Jason shrugged. "You're not the first to do it," he said, grinning.

"We've got your back, Murph." Archie raised his canteen, then took a swig. "No worries there, lad."

The mood was changing back to a lighter tone, which was welcoming. Murphy got up and rejoined the rest of the group, and after a second Ryan followed. Archie offered him a drink, which he refused, but instead passed it on to the younger soldier. Murphy took it and took a drink.

Best thing a survivor wants to hear is that he's not alone, Ryan thought to himself. That someone gives enough of a shite. That's one of the best things about the army; there's always gonna be someone that does.

"How old are you, Murph?" questioned Finn. "I forget."

"Twenty," was the reply, followed by a meek smile. "Today was my birthday, actually."

"No shit?" Jason laughed. "And we didn't make a cake! Well, we'll make do. Archie, get us a round going. Hell, make it three. We'll get well and drunk tonight to celebrate."

The rest of the privates laughed and cheered at that, clinking canteens and tin cups. Ryan sat back and smiled. Although he would not drink, he would stay and chat with these men, this little dysfunctional family, for a spell.

After all, he thought as Jason and Tucker put Murphy in a headlock and gave him a noogie, you only turn twenty once.

It was cold tonight, but under the thick blanket, Danny, Price and Matthews managed to get snug and warm as they sat in their foxhole. Once again they had dug it enough so that they could fasten a blanket canvas roof over their heads, tied to sticks, to give them the pretense of being indoors.

Another night, another outpost, Danny thought. At least it was a nice night for it. Peering out from under the blanket roof, he could see the night littered with stars, almost like dancers putting on a show for them. Most beautiful of all was the moon. It was a full moon tonight, shining bright and lighting up the entire terrain. In the bluish hue, the desert looked actually somewhat beautiful, almost alien.

On nights like this, being out here doesn't feel too bad.

"And now, I believe we know how they felt," Price said, pulling Danny out of his thoughts.

"What who felt?" Matthews asked, struggling to keep his eyelids open.

"The Persians, when the Rashidun Caliphate were marching through Mesopotamia to push them and the Romans out."

"The Rashiwhat?"

"The first four political successors to Muhammad, in spreading the word of Allah. Carter could tell you more about it if you wanted to know." Price pointed out to the desert. "They probably passed right through here, nine thousand Muslim Arabs, ready to burn the shit out of Al-Anbar on their way north."

Danny whistled. "That's a hell of a long ride."

"It was worth it for them. This country's been at war for thousands of years, fighting for land, fighting for religion...war's a way of life out here. Sometimes you have to sit back and wonder what we're hoping to accomplish by being here. From their point of view, we're no different than the Persians and Romans were."

That was something they had all wondered at one point in time or another. Hundreds and hundreds of years of warfare, what hope did they have in bringing peace? It was no secret that this war was a pointless one, it caused discussion on nights when one too many drinks had been gulped down. The answer always came back to politics, and that was a discussion not even drunk people wanted to have. It was always something to think about, though.

Especially now, with all that was happening.

"So what are we gonna do about this Death Eater lot?" he asked.

"That name's a laugh," snorted Matthews. "'Death Eaters', what, you eat death? Pretentious much? It sounds like something a bunch of college kids would call themselves for a laugh."

"Aye," agreed Danny, "but what do we do about them?"

"We follow the woman's advice," Price responded. "We get our bearings, and we get to safe ground. Sound the alarm, raise defenses, hold our ground, and hope to heaven this Harry Potter lad does what he needs to do."

"And if we run into them first?"

He smiled. "Well, a little payback would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"Aye to that." Matthews raised his canteen and took a drink.

Yes, Danny thought, resting his chin on his arms. Payback would be beautiful. For Tubbs, Pete, Tony, and the rest of them. If these Death Eaters come back, there's gonna be hell to pay.

The three stared out into the desert, to what may have been the same spot centuries ago that the Muslim armies were fighting for freedom. All three of them tired but alert, somber but contemplative. All three of them veterans, all three of them ready for whatever army, be it rebel or wizard, that came at them.

And then from somewhere out behind the dunes, a wolf howled.

I think you know what's coming next.

I'm not going to say too much about Murphy's storyline here, because...quite frankly, I'm not the best person to talk about it. I was nervous to approach this sort of backstory, kind of like how I was nervous to touch that one part of Crawling Under the Surface. Overall, thought, I think it came out alright. I wonder if I should've made his history a little longer, but reading it again, I think the length is right.

One last little note, like a lot of the worldly facts I tend to throw in from time-to-time, the march of the Rashidun Caliphate is a true story. The battle of Al-Anbar took place in 633 A.D., between 9,000 Muslim soldiers and an unknown number of Persian soldiers. It ended in a Muslim victory with few casualties on both sides.

There's not TOO much information to find on that battle, but it is out there.

So yeah. Next time...well, you'll see. Peasoup.